


Where Without Whom

by Lassroyale



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Bromance, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassroyale/pseuds/Lassroyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Living in Africa with Eric and Jeff was the best experience of my life so far. The art that imitated life was imitated by life again on our road trips. The irony was that after a breakup forced me to re-examine myself, some of the most romantic moments I have had in my life were with these psycho jarheads. " - excerpt from an interview with PJ Ransone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Without Whom

**Author's Note:**

> This sprang into being due to this interview with James Ransone (http://ohnotheydidnt.livejournal.com/26774053.html#ixzz1Rp8gc8sp). It’s a really great interview, where PJ talks about how close he became to Eric Kocher and Jeff Carizales, how he came to love them, and how during the epic roadtrips they used to take together they taught him to be the person that PJ wanted to be. It’s touching and it struck me; I’ve got a soft spot for Eric Kocher, anyway, so I had to write little moment. I know PJ doesn’t saysthe romantic moments were in anything but a friendshippy way, but hey, a gal can imagine a bit, right? Please enjoy! (Title from the poem of Octavio Paz of the same name)

Forty-eight hours off.  Seems like such a short time, but with Eric sitting beside him in the car with his gaze ranging out onto the road ahead, it seems like a lifetime. This time Jeff isn’t with them, he’s staying behind to work on something for the show, improve the motor of one of the Humvee engines needing a little tweaking or – as the Marines say – a little unfucking.

“Have fun without me,” Jeff says, then punches PJ hard in the arm. There’ll be a bruise there later, but PJ doesn’t mind as much as he used to. It’s Jeff’s way of saying, "Go get into trouble; go _live_."

He and Eric don’t have a destination. They just roll out a map, pick a spot nearby and point their car in that direction. All they’re riding on is a half a tank of gas and the willingness to let whatever comes to them, come. The willingness to live, the vitality that thrums through Eric’s veins, is something that PJ still isn’t used to. Part of him still wants to shy away from the kind of danger that Eric seems to root out effortlessly. He always seemed to be in the thick of it, and the longer PJ was around him, he was too. He'd nearly drowned trying to swim across the Zambezi river with Eric and Jeff, a few weeks back, and even as he’d been pulled under the water, struggling to break the surface and _breathe_ , he'd never felt more alive.

PJ thought he used to be living, a 115-lb heroine junkie - cool amongst his circle of junkie friends - but it wasn’t really living. It was existing. Eric lives. Jeff lives. PJ? He’s learning. Slowly, every time Eric says something that cuts him to the bone, every time Eric pushes him to risk his life, to put it all on the line for something he wants, PJ learns a little more what it is to actually _live_.

There aren’t words for what it means to him, but if PJ has to try, he might accurately say that Eric and Jeff saved his life. At least they’ve saved it from being a meaningless existence. They’ve shown him that he’s every right to be who he wants to be; he just needs to reach out and _do it_.

PJ’s lost in his thoughts, almost doesn’t hear Eric say to him, “If you’re gonna just sit there and write in your fucking diary, Ransone, I’ll pull your pigtails if you want.”

PJ laughs, taking the jibe in stride. Months ago he would’ve reacted differently, gotten defensive. Now, however, he accepts it for what it is: Eric just trying to tear him down so he could be built back up. Eric telling him to talk; not hold it all in. So PJ talks.

He tells Eric about this one time he thought he probably overdosed on some really good heroine, and how when he woke up in a puddle of his own vomit with one side of his body completely numb and useless, all he could think about was booting up again. Eric talks about the time he got blown fifteen feet into the air when their Humvee came under heavy attack, and how all he could think about was the rest of his team and not the pain. Eric’s story is different than PJ’s story, broader, more intense, but Eric isn’t judging, isn’t saying anything to marginalize PJ’s experience. It’s PJ’s story, PJ’s experience – it’s just as meaningful as his.

They stop later when it’s too dark to drive without the benefit of thermals – the set won’t let them swipe any, no matter what case Eric presents – and pull off to the side of the road. PJ wanders out of the car to stretch and take a piss, half-heeding Eric’s warning not step on a scorpion or something equally as retarded.

When PJ returns, bladder empty and no fatal accidents having occurred, Eric hands him a Power Bar and a warm beer, eyes seeking PJ’s out in the darkness. They lean up against the side of the car, looking up at the sky; the moon slides out from behind a cloud, illuminating the desert landscape with a weird, pale light. Everything looks washed out, alien; PJ thinks it’s one of the most beautiful and romantic sights he’s ever seen.

He’d never have seen anything like this if he hadn’t met Eric Kocher.

PJ takes a long swallow of beer. It’s warm but it’s wet, and it feels good as it splashes down his throat. Eric doesn’t say anything, and when PJ looks over, he sees Eric studying him in the moonlight, observing him, like he’s deciding something. The air is cool, the temperature dropping until the thin t-shirt that PJ is wearing isn’t enough to keep him warm. He shivers and remembers he forgot to bring a sweatshirt of any sort.

Eric drops his arm across PJ’s shoulders and pulls him in tight to his side, startling him. His fingers tighten instinctively over his beer bottle as he’s pressed close along Eric’s side, close into his warmth and solid bulk. It’s nothing, PJ thinks, he’s seen Rudy and Eric and Jeff huddled up when it’s been cold during night shoots, thinking nothing of the _closeness_ other than using eachother’s body heat for extra warmth. Except, Eric’s hand is deliberately rubbing down PJ’s arm, but when he glances over, Eric isn’t looking at him and is staring intently at the moon.

PJ drinks down another gulp of beer and lets himself settle lightly against Eric’s side. He fits there nicely. They drink their beer in silence, until the moon slips back behind a bank of clouds.

  
(The End.)


End file.
